


Exorcism

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-23
Updated: 2004-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: He had started this thing months ago with Orlando because of Frodo, in a way. Because he’d been plunging headlong into the darkness and he’d needed a source of light. Because Orlando was full of life and joy and the simplicity of pleasure, and that was what Elijah had needed after endless days of unrequited darkness.





	Exorcism

**Author's Note:**

> For Jenn Abiding, who helped to shape the way I thought writing should be. Thanks to Cyndi and Brenna for editing, and for challenging me in their own special ways.
> 
> Content/Warnings: Masochism. Dark.

“Wait…not yet…”

The lube warmed inside of him, melting and slippery, and Elijah gasped for air as Orlando slid completely into him, until Orlando’s hipbones bumped hard against his, the bones shifting and grating beneath thin layers of skin.

 

 

He had started this thing months ago with Orlando because of Frodo, in a way. Because he’d been plunging headlong into the darkness and he’d needed a source of light. Because Orlando was full of life and joy and the simplicity of pleasure, and that was what Elijah had needed after endless days of unrequited darkness.

 

 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop…”

“Doesn’t matter…just…” And then Orlando pulled back, slowly enough to set all of Elijah’s nerve endings to sizzling awareness, and just as languidly pushed back in, until Elijah was ready to claw his way across the sheets, to scrabble away from the unyielding strength within him.

 

 

He still wasn’t sure of what Orlando had been looking for in _him._ If he had to make a guess, it would be that Orlando was hanging on to the tangled and frayed threads of the Fellowship, knowing it was disintegrating around them as they split up to film with different units. Being there for Frodo by being there for Elijah. Which really wasn’t the same thing at all.

And yet…

 

 

“Please.”

He could feel the heat pulsing inside of him, arrhythmic to the beat of his heart, and moaned softly at the feeling of being filled. This was what it must be like, he thought. To be so completely possessed that you would die before giving up that feeling. This is what Frodo felt.

 

 

He couldn’t remember when things had started changing. How somehow, instead of him putting parts of himself into his character, some of Frodo had leaked into _Elijah._ He didn’t know how to separate it anymore. He didn’t know how to let go of the evil and the suspicion and the jealousy, to just be quiet and content. At peace.

 

 

“Elijah…”

He turned his head to one side, scraped his cheek against the too-soft friction of the sheets. His eyes closed, briefly, but there was no escape from his thoughts in the dark space behind his eyelids. Above him Orlando moved again, slow withdrawal and return that made Elijah arch, fractions of an inch, with the motion.

 

 

He felt as if he was dying. Little by little, being worn away until there would be nothing left but crumbling ashes and a foul taste on the back of someone’s tongue. As if he were killing himself with every breath, through his awareness of the black void that was eating him from the inside out. Where Orlando slid against him, aching friction and heat, and pleasure that lapped at the shores of his pain in numbing waves. He was all numb, now. Almost.

 

 

“What…?”

He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he felt Orlando’s hands against his ribs, stuttering over skin that seemed far too pale to contain his soul. He knew there were tears from the warmth against his eyes, but they did not shake free to wind their way over his face.

And he wished that he was with anyone else in this moment; Viggo, or Ian, or even Dominic. Anyone but Orlando, whose eyes were on his now, whose body language as he remained locked inside of Elijah was clearly screaming ‘I don’t know how to handle this girly shit.’ Orlando, who just now seemed to be realizing that this time was different.

 

 

He had wondered before how Frodo handled this. How Frodo could possibly survive with this aching void inside, this emptiness that Elijah had never felt until now. And Elijah was only getting the backlash, the remnants of emotion and determination that were left after the final ‘cut.’ He didn’t know how anyone could live with this inside them. Or why they would ever want to. Death seemed so easy, compared to feeling.

 

 

“Elijah,” Orlando whispered, and there was another painfully slow out-and-in, and then movement stopped altogether while Orlando cradled Elijah’s face in his palms, touched his hair. Kissed his eyes closed again when they opened, blank and empty. “What do you need?” Orlando asked him softly. And Elijah remembered to breathe.

 

 

What he really wanted now was to feel. To break out of this claustrophobic cocoon and release all of the pain and the anger that had been building and festering inside him ever since he’d naively thought that he could act his way through the Ring’s possession. To get back to where he had been, who he had been before the lines began disappearing and the borders were erased.

 

 

“Hold me down,” Elijah whispered; begged; pleaded. His hands curled into claws when Orlando pinned his wrists, scratched at the air and the soft walls of his own personal, invisible prison. His head tilted back into the pillow, up so that his throat pulsed in offering to Orlando’s lips and tongue, his teeth. His own tongue struggled a little when Orlando’s curled around it a moment later, claiming Elijah’s mouth and teeth and numb, swollen lips. Then he allowed himself the defeat, moaning wordless secrets into Orlando’s mouth, hearing them lost and swallowed up into the darkness.

 

 

It was overwhelming; like feeling nothing in everything at once, being bombarded by emotions that he only half-recognized as his and had forgotten why they existed. He wanted to fight, but even more he wanted to be the sacrifice, to have someone suck out the very marrow of his being and reshape him, make him whole again by sorting out what in all this maelstrom of feeling was his, and his alone. He wished there were some way to put that into words, so that he could sing them to the skin over Orlando’s shoulder, the sweat that gathered in the indent above his collarbone. He would whisper the answers into the dark, and Orlando’s body would know what they meant.

 

 

“Take it,” Elijah begged, turning his head to the side again and searching for warmth in the chill of the pillow against his cheek. “Take all of it,” screaming in frustration when Orlando didn’t bite and tear and rip him apart, peel away the layers of skin until Elijah could feel something real.

Then there was the hard thrust of Orlando inside of him, and Elijah’s hands curled until the tips of his fingers bit into the soft flesh of his palms, pressing and clenched. “Take,” he moaned, as Orlando slid in and out and in again, cleansing and renewing, pummeling the darkness out of him and leaving room for nothing, not anything behind.

 

 

There was an easier way to do this, a better way, a way that didn’t involve sweat and screams and the agony of pleasure that was swamping him, sensation draining emotion like a whirlpool, swirling everything together into a jumbled eddy and flushing him clean of it all. There was another way, but right now he couldn’t remember it, and he didn’t want anything other than this, anything except for the bright-hot lights prickling and igniting under his skin, tingling up his arms and through his legs, the damp-cold wash of sweat over his skin where he wasn’t pressed against Orlando. This was it. This was everything.

 

 

“Elijah…”

Gasped, and Elijah screamed recognition of his name, as his soul slammed back into his body and his thoughts blanked; flashed; cleared. His eyes snapped open, unseeing, and then gradually focused on the dim outlines of his bedroom and the shadow of Orlando lying exhausted between his legs, one hand gingerly resting on his chest over his heart.

“Don’t do that again,” Orlando said, voice thin and weary, but there was a plea in the high tones, a hope that they would never have to. Elijah curled around him, something like a purr catching in his throat and spilling out over the sides, lapping at Orlando along with Elijah’s flickering tongue.

“I won’t,” he murmured into the warm-slick hollow of Orlando’s throat, and tilted his head back when Orlando pushed against him to allow the near-desperate nuzzling and feather-soft kisses along his jaw, trailing onto his mouth and between his lips. His legs relaxed, slipped from around Orlando’s waist as their tongues curled and tangled.

 

 

He wasn’t sure of exactly what he had lost, in the fire that had just melted and purged him, remade him again. He couldn’t hold onto the fragments of thought and emotion once they began slipping away, bleeding out of him in his own twisted self-sacrifice. They were parts of him that he no longer needed, that he had never wanted in the first place. He didn’t know what they were, or how to name them.

He only knew what was left.


End file.
